The Gentleman Thief
by Moonlit Dreaming
Summary: Ann has a strange New Year's Eve, which leads her to ponder an odd question: can a man be a gentleman as well as a thief? MFoMT. Gift for SweetieLove.


**Disclaimer: **Harvest Moon is not mine.

**Note: **Hello everyone! The idea of pairing Ann and Skye together came from **SweetieLove** and I agreed to write it because it sounded like a fun challenge. The result is this! It's unashamedly ridiculous, but hopefully pretty fun! And sorry for taking so long with it...^_^;

The Gentleman Thief

Just damn typical.

Ann was never alone in the Inn at night, never. There was her Dad in the room next door and Gray upstairs, when he wasn't sneaking over to Mary's. Cliff would've been there too, had he not married Claire. But that was almost two years ago. They had a kid now. If it was summer, Kai would be there. Instead it was a snow strewn New Year's Eve and Ann was indeed alone at the Inn.

Or at least, she had been.

The muffled sound of clanking metal in the kitchen suggested that that was no longer the case. Ann who was lying very still in bed, careful not to even rustle the sheets, propped herself up on her elbow and listened intently. Someone was definitely banging around out there. Was it her father?

Surely not. He had left for Duke's hours ago and they had both doubtless fallen into a wine-induced stupor by now. Anyway, it was barely eleven o'clock. Nobody with any sense went out to a New Year's celebration only to come home an hour before midnight. This surely ruled out Gray, too, who'd gone to the party in Rose Square.

Somebody was _definitely_ out there.

Leaning on her elbow, breathing shallowly, Ann marvelled at the fact that the Inn had never been robbed. Likewise, she had never spent a night alone there. And now, much to her disbelief, fate had conspired to bring those two facts together in the most unfortunate fashion.

Whoever it was, they weren't subtle. It sounded as if, for some mad reason, someone was cooking. Cooking! In _her _beautifully neat kitchen! If anything, that made Ann more indignant. She threw off her blanket and sat upright. Her heart-rate only increased when she noticed a thin beam of light sneaking under her bedroom door. Struck by an idea, she looked wildly around and her eyes fell on her trusty broom which she had slung in the corner.

Her father had laughed when he heard that she kept a broom in her bedroom – for night time sweeping, of course! – but he wouldn't be laughing now when it saved their livelihood and possibly her life. She grabbed it and reached for the door handle. A sweet smell had permeated the room; someone was frying onions.

A pause. She inhaled, flung wide the door and yelled, _"Step away from the oven!"_

"Aarrrgh – " A young man shrieked as the broom handle came crashing down on his head. He reeled back from the stove.

There was a brief moment – one of madness, clearly – in which Ann marvelled at how delicious the cooking onions smelled. Then she hit him again. "We've got a police force here!" she screamed. He didn't have to have to know that it consisted of the Mayor's son who doubled as the postman – and that he'd never touched so much as a plastic gun, never mind the real deal.

"Do you mind?" the man said, massaging his head. "You almost upset the pan."

Ann blinked at him. She was rarely left speechless – ask anyone. "...It's_ my_ pan."

He chuckled wryly. "Well, that I can't argue with! Do you have any coriander?"

"Err... no fresh leaves," Ann said automatically, pointing at one of the cupboards. "But we do have some of the dried stuff." He began to rifle through the jars, while she watched him blankly. What was going on? She racked her brain to see if there was any possible way to explain this strange man who was ransacking the spice rack. Perhaps it was some mad prank set up by her father – but surely not. Even _he_ had more of a sense of humour than this.

She watched the man measure out two teaspoons of coriander. As he added them, the pan hissed and sizzled and steam swirled towards the ceiling. Ann shook her head. This was _surreal._ "Are you – ?" she began falteringly, unsure of how to finish that sentence. Mad? Going to kill me? Both?

"I'm Skye, the Phantom Thief," he explained, shooting her an easy smile.

"Phantom?" she asked, shifting her feet impatiently. Her fiery, red-headed side was starting to bubble near the surface. "You look all too real to me."

"Phantom is just a name." He laughed. "It's a boast, if you will, for I am so sleek and so secretive, so suave and so subtle. I am unseen and unheard. I am a Phantom, who leaves no footsteps and no trace."

Ann snorted. "Oh, so you're going to do the washing up then?" She jabbed an angry finger at the explosion of mess that had disturbed her once spotless kitchen: upturned jars and packets spilling their contents across the counter-tops, cupboard doors hanging open, discarded saucepan lids. "Unseen and unheard? _Really?" _

The Phantom Thief laughed again, though this time Ann detected a hint of embarrassment. "I admit," he said, "that this has not been the perfect robbery. But forgive me, I didn't expect anyone to be home on New Year's Eve when there is a party in full flow just down the lane. Why aren't you with them?" His head swung in her direction. The pan gurgled in the background. He had bright green eyes, Ann noticed, and they seemed, for a second, to slice her apart. But the moment passed as soon as it had developed, and she crossed her arms over chest defensively.

"None of your business why I'm not there," she muttered.

Skye didn't have an answer to that. He continued to stir the onions. "Do you have any tomatoes?" he asked. "I don't like rummage around while you're stood there."

Ann shot him a black look. "There are some in the refrigerator." She said it very begrudgingly. She hated this, but at the same time the chef inside her hated to see a dish ruined. He nodded and set about slicing them. For the first time, Ann felt a something tingle on the back of her neck. A man had broken into her house and now he had a knife. Her eyes were drawn to the door and her feet itched to move with them. She could probably make a run for it. She was thin and fast – "wiry" Mary always said. Ann wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or not; she assumed it meant tough and that made her happy enough.

Could she do it? Would he notice? Not if she was subtle... In her mind's eye, Ann saw herself racing down the snowy path to Rose Square wearing her night gown, screaming, "Intruder at the Inn! Intruder! He's got a knife and he's used up all the tomatoes and just made a damn _mess _of the place!" Skye was looking at her oddly, his head tilted to one side, and she realised belatedly that she was laughing out loud.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding almost concerned.

"Nothing," she said, fighting back a chuckle. "One question, though: why are you cooking a curry?" It seemed ridiculous that she hadn't thought to ask that before now.

He shrugged. "Because it's my favourite." Oh yes, Ann thought, of course. That explained it all. "And I was hungry," he continued. "And tired and, as I said, I thought nobody was in." A strange new vulnerability had crept into Skye's voice. If the man hadn't broken into her home, Ann might have felt sorry for him.

She walked up behind him and peered over his shoulder into the pan. She sensed him squirm beside her. "You know," she said, "I don't see why it's so weird me being here alone on New Years. Surely there's nothing lonelier than robbing a house on New Year's Eve? Nowhere better to be?"

Silence answered her. After a long pause, he shrugged. "Clearly not. _This_ is all I live for. I don't need anyone else."

Ann couldn't resist. "Except when you can't find the tomatoes," she said.

His face was turned away from her, but Ann was sure he was trying not to laugh. She fought the unexpected urge to sigh. There were many reasons why she wasn't at the New Year's celebration – not that _he_ would understand them. Even Mary didn't. Of course, she didn't. She had Gray and sometimes, when they were together, he was all she noticed. Her father had called her a spoilsport for not going, but that was nothing new. They were always at loggerheads. He once decided she wasn't girly enough and as Ann was still proudly wearing her overalls and muddy trainers ten years later, it was obvious that she never let anyone tell her what to do.

Truth was, Ann didn't really know what had made her eschew New Year's Eve. Mary and Gray were getting married in the spring. When they toasted the New Year at midnight, it would be with a tingle of excitement. Ann meanwhile, though happy for her friends, wasn't sure what to feel about another year. She woke up unable to see any reason to celebrate, and that was a rare and frightening feeling for her.

She realised with a jolt that Skye had stopped cooking. "What are you doing?" she asked, watching him take the pan off the hob.

"It's done," he said and Ann, breathing in the blend of spices, realised he was right. "And now I think I should return to the shadows."

Ann blinked. Her surprise quickly faded and she planted her hands on her hips. "Oh? What makes you think I'm going to let you leave? I should call the police. I should make a – a citizen's arrest!"

"_Should,"_ he agreed. "But if you were prepared to get the police in – if indeed you have a police force here – you would've done it before now."

Ann scowled at him. "Well, you should at least eat your curry," she pointed out. "And we do _so_ have a police force. A small one."

Skye laughed, but he strode past her, heading for the door. "You eat it. You'll like it. I'm a fine cook, if I do say so myself."

"Huh!"

He didn't reply. He didn't so much as look at her as he slipped out of the door. Ann swiftly followed him into the darkened restaurant at the front of the Inn. She hit the light switch and the lamps flickered into life, throwing dusky relief over the tables and chairs and wood-panelled walls.

"Nice place," Skye said limply. Ann wondered what to say; she wondered if she should say anything. His hand was on the front door handle. Then he hesitated. A shadow seemed to flicker across his face and he turned back to Ann, his head down. He stepped slowly towards her, rummaging in his pocket. There was a flash of silver as he held out his hand. "Here. I think this is yours."

Ann felt a stab of recognition pierce her chest. She felt hollow. A shiver spread down her bare arms as she looked down at the silver necklace in his palm. "Where did you find it?"

"When I first got here," he admitted. "It was just there, on the kitchen table."

But Ann had already closed her eyes; her head was rushing.

"I'm sorry," Skye offered.

"It's not exactly mine," she said, eyes snapping open. "It's my mother's."

"Oh. I offer her my apologies."

"She's dead."

He swallowed hard. "Then I give _you_ my condolences."

"You can give me the necklace back," Ann said, and she snatched the chain from his thin fingers.

Skye's forehead creased. It was the first time he had shown any true outward sign of discontent. "I was going to give that to you," he told her. "Can't a man be a gentleman as well as a thief?"

Ann let out a laugh, but suddenly realised he wasn't joking. She shrugged her shoulders, eyes on the necklace she was holding. "I don't think the two go hand in hand, to be honest." She sighed. "Anyway. I don't need your condolences. My mum died years ago. I was only kid. I don't remember her, I don't even think about her."

He clearly didn't believe her – who would? – but he couldn't seem to summon an answer. He moved towards the door again and Ann made no move to stop him. When he paused briefly in the threshold, Ann called out, "I'll get back to you!"

"Pardon?"

"About the gentleman thief thing. I'll get back to you." She thought she heard him chuckle as the door slammed, the wind whistled shrilly and he slid into the night. But she couldn't be sure.

* * *

As Mary's best friend, Ann was her maid of honour. They were sat in the Inn discussing wedding plans over coffee when she brought up the subject of her eventful New Year's Eve. "He made me a curry and tried to steal my dead mother's necklace. I'd say I'd had worse first dates, but that would be a filthy lie. Still," she mused, "it was a _very _nice curry."

Mary was peering over her glasses at her in sheer astonishment. "You're mad," she said, though she was smiling faintly. "Really! I think that may be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

Ann was inclined to agree.


End file.
